


a house on a hill (in a suburb)

by psychedaelic



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Guns, Home Invasion, M/M, Nightmares, Robbery, an overly dramatic kyungsoo, clearly i'm not good at writing serious things, ish, it's the family business, mafia, mrs. do grows weed in her window boxes, old houses, technically but i think i kinda stuffed that one up, they work from home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 07:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20188705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychedaelic/pseuds/psychedaelic
Summary: With a house inherited from a deceased family member comes...a break-in?





	a house on a hill (in a suburb)

**Author's Note:**

> Oh Lovely Day Fest: **Prompt LD017**
> 
> first, to the prompter - thank you so much for your lovely prompt! i'm not sure that i did it any justice, but i hope you enjoy reading this anyway.
> 
> to the mods - i thoroughly enjoyed writing for this fest, thank you for organising it and allowing my deadline extensions. you've done a wonderful job and i commend you for your work!!
> 
> to aarushi and jess - aarushi, thank you for encouraging me, beta'ing the first draft of this, and helping me cull some of the crack, i would have been an absolute mess without you. jess, thank you for - as always - being my sanity, voice of reason, and best bro.
> 
> finally, to the readers - this is an absolute shit show, my bad. i hope you like it :3

There were only a handful of people at the funeral; the old cat hadn’t been particularly popular in the family, and had managed to outlive all but a handful of her crusty friends. Really, the only reason Chanyeol had taken time off work to go to his great aunt’s funeral was because a) it was paid leave, and b) it wasn’t very polite to skip the funeral and only turn up for the reading of the will.

Speaking of which - Chanyeol had mixed feelings about his inheritance.

“--The late Ms Park has stated that her property be given to Mr. Chanyeol Park, her grand-nephew--”

“A house?” Chanyeol gasped. The solicitor looked mildly put off, but smiled thinly and kept reading.

“As well as her-- er, antique doily set and three handmade china teapots.”

Chanyeol leaned over the table and squinted at the upside-down piece of paper. “Are you sure that’s it?” The solicitor’s eyebrows briefly turned into wriggly caterpillars as he glared disapprovingly. Chanyeol decided to ignore him, because sure, doilies and teapots weren’t exactly thrilling, but wow! A house! There were, in Chanyeol’s opinion, few things as exciting as moving into a new house.

Unfortunately, the house was not by any stretch of the imagination new. It had taken three hours and an uncomfortably large stack of paperwork, but now Chanyeol was the proud owner of a decrepit mansion. Nice. The garden was a veritable forest, and when he opened the door, the smell that drifted out was unpleasant, to say the least.

“Water damage, fossilised apple in the microwave, spiders everywhere-- lovely,” Chanyeol muttered, ducking beneath a cobweb. “When I said I wanted a house, I didn’t mean extra work.” He tugged the curtains open, hoping that a bit of light would make the job seem less daunting. They were stiff, and Chanyeol huffed, giving them a good yank. The curtain rail fell off, landing in a cloud of dust.

“Okay,” Chanyeol coughed, backing away. “Let’s try the rest of the place.”

Upstairs was surprisingly better, dust mostly gone. The plaster was still ruined, and the wooden stairs creaked ominously, but at least the spiders weren’t taking over every nook and cranny. At the end of the hallway was Great-Aunt Miyoung’s bedroom, and Chanyeol could see why she’d chosen it. This side of the building faced west, huge windows designed to catch the warm afternoon sunlight in winter. The pail beside the cold fireplace was still filled with split logs, and through the window Chanyeol could see paddocks stretching away into the distance, bathed in the golden afternoon light.

It was peaceful, and he let out a heavy breath, sinking into the armchair by the bed. A cloud of dust puffed up from the ancient cushion, and Chanyeol spluttered violently, shooting back up out of the chair.

So that was a no-go.

Chanyeol sneezed out some more dust, and peeled away the dust cover on the bed, revealing frilly white sheets and a hideous green pillowcase. He cautiously jabbed the bed, and decided that it was probably okay to sleep on -- after he changed the sheets, at least.

Chanyeol had been living in the small town for just under a week, and was already making friends with his neighbours. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be able to do much more than visit them for dinner now and again, because most of them were about his mother’s age. Which wasn’t particularly good for his (non-existent) reputation as a social butterfly.

“My condolences, dear -- Miyoung was a lovely woman in her younger years.”

Chanyeol shrugged, staring out the window. “I didn’t really know her all that well, honestly. She went a little crazy towards the end; she was convinced everyone was out to get her, especially the nurses at the home.”

Mrs. Do nodded wisely. “Old age does that to you, my grandfather-in-law was very eccentric, only ever ate food he’d prepared himself, thought his daughter was trying to slip him something. She was, of course--” Chanyeol choked on his tea “--but everyone thought he was just being paranoid. I believe she got him in the end -- sleeping pills in the tea.” Mrs. Do clucked disapprovingly, reaching for a slice of fruit cake. “Sleeping pills are very unreliable, dear, the best way is a bit of botulinum in the flour-- ooh, slow down when you’re drinking, choking to death is rather unpleasant, I’ve heard.”

“I’m sure,” Chanyeol wheezed, deciding to move onto a safer topic, in case Mrs. Do got any funny ideas involving the fruit cake. “How long have you been living here?”

“Thirty years, give or take. My husband thought it was a wonderful place to raise children; nice and quiet. He also thought it would be a good place to conduct business from, but I wasn’t particularly happy about that.”

Chanyeol absently wondered what her husband’s job could have been -- working from home usually meant long-distance correspondence, right? That didn’t really narrow anything down, lots of jobs could involve that.

“He was right about the children, of course. We only had one, but Kyungsoo was particularly insistent on making more than enough trouble.”

Chanyeol hummed noncommittally, letting his gaze drift to the window. There was a plant box on the outside ledge, filled with flowers and-- surely that wasn’t weed. Kind old ladies who liked feeding people fruit cake and gossiping about their children didn’t grow marijuana as a hobby, did they?

“Chanyeol?” Chanyeol jumped, realising he’d dazed off. Wow, he must have been more tired than he thought.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“How old are you, dear,” she said patiently.

“Twenty-seven in November,” Chanyeol answered.

“That’s a year older than my son!” Mrs. Do crowed, beaming. “I think you two would get along wonderfully, remind me to give you his number.”

“Ah-- sorry, I’m not really looking for a relationship at the moment, Mrs. Do--”

“Nonsense, dear, you don’t have to commit to anything just yet! You’ll never know if you like something -- or someone, as the case is -- until you try it. Or them.” The fact that she was so insistent on setting up a date was beginning to seriously unsettle Chanyeol.

“Look at the time!” He blurted out, making a show of looking at his wrist.

There was no watch.

He made eye contact with Mrs. Do, who was frowning a bit, and laughed nervously, setting down his teacup. “It’s getting awfully late, isn’t it? It was lovely to talk to you, and thank you for the fruit cake--” Chanyeol really hoped it wasn’t poisoned “--but I’ve gotta get back to fix the door jamb before it gets dark. Don’t worry, I can let myself out.” He slapped his thighs, standing up and heading for the door.

“Come back soon, Chanyeol, it was very nice to talk to you!”

“You too, Mrs. Do,” Chanyeol called over his shoulder as he opened the front door.

Thankfully, Mrs. Do’s house was only five minutes from his own, because the wind had seriously picked up while he’d been out; a biting cold that swept through his coat and settled in his bones. Lovely. Chanyeol walked as fast as he could, rubbing his hands together and eyeing off the setting sun. The minute it went beneath the horizon, Chanyeol just knew that the temperature was going to drop even more drastically, and he really wanted to be home, in bed, with a hot water bottle before that happened.

_Chanyeol was in the kitchen. The broken clock over the table was ticking again, and as Chanyeol turned to the stairs, a tendril of unease curled itself around his stomach. The hallway was strange, patterns on the wallpaper bending and shifting with every step he took. Then, the world turned on itself and he was running. Behind him, the house went up in flames, and all Chanyeol could feel was a deep, bone-chilling terror. _

It was the noise that woke him up.

Downstairs, there was a loud thunk, and Chanyeol heard the distinctive sound of the wire door banging in the wind. _Just a dream_, Chanyeol thought, gripping the sheets tightly. _Just a nightmare. You have them all the time. Don’t go projecting onto normal sounds_.

Outside, the tree leaves slapped against his window, and Chanyeol jumped, before gritting his teeth and closing his eyes, trying to force himself back to sleep.

Then, the stairs let out an ominous creak, and Chanyeol’s eyes flew open. That wasn’t a normal sound, creaky old house or not.

He swallowed, sliding out of bed and trying not to let the floorboards squeak as he padded to the door. He stared blankly at the wooden floor, concentrating on listening to whatever was outside his room and trying to ignore the cold seeping into his feet.

_Thump_.

Footsteps advanced, then stopped.

_Thump_.

An icy tendril of fear settled low in Chanyeol’s stomach as he realised what was happening -- those were doors closing, and they were checking every room.

He swallowed, backing away from the door and scrabbling for his trusted cricket bat. He had to hide, he had no idea if there was just one intruder, or more, and everything of any value was in Chanyeol’s room.

Did they even know there was someone living here now?

There was a low chuckle from somewhere outside the door, and Chanyeol choked back a whimper, stepping backwards and pressing himself against the wardrobe, as far away from the hallway as he could get. He stared wide-eyed at the door, bat clutched so tightly that his knuckles were beginning to turn white.

The seconds seemed to stretch into hours as Chanyeol waited, frozen, for the door to open.

Quiet footsteps.

A cough.

The door swung open and--

“Who the _fuck_ are you?”

Chanyeol stifled a yelp, hoisting the bat up like he was ready to swing it (he wasn’t).

“Get-- get out of my house!”

“Oi, boss,” the guy called over his shoulder -- and was that a gun on his hip? “We’ve got an unexpected issue?” A low growl of irritation floated in from down the hall. Suddenly another man was stomping in, with a murderous scowl and a gun pointed directly at Chanyeol, whose knees had gone all wobbly.

_Oh god_, he thought. _I’m going to die._

His cricket bat, while very solid and perfectly capable of doing some serious bodily harm, was about as useful as a feather in the face of a pistol, and Chanyeol was very, very aware of that. So, when the scary looking ‘boss’ told him to drop the bat, put both his hands on his head and kneel on the ground, Chanyeol didn’t put up much of a fuss.

“What’s your name?” The man snarled.

“Chanyeol P-Park,” he answered, barely a whisper.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you here?”

“I-- this is my house, why are you here?”

The man sneered. “Nice try. This house has been abandoned for years. What are you, an undercover cop? Private detective? Listen, boy--” The man took a few steps closer, crouching down and pressing the barrel of the pistol to Chanyeol’s head. “--This is my territory, and if you don’t start fucking talking, no one’s ever gonna find you again.”

Chanyeol couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped his throat then, and the man grinned, something feral creeping into his gaze.

“I’m serious,” Chanyeol squeaked, shaking all over. “This-- my great auntie, this was her house, she--”

“Kyu-- I mean, D.O.,” interrupted a cheerful voice. “Your mama’s calling, says it’s urgent.”

The scary man -- D.O.? -- exhaled heavily, still glaring at Chanyeol. “Tell her we’re in the middle of preparing for a transfer.”

The new guy cleared his throat awkwardly. “She-- uh, already knows? She said that we need to move locations.” D.O. stood up, whipping around and stomping towards the door, where the man who had opened Chanyeol’s bedroom door was standing, as well as the new guy.

D.O. snatched the phone he was holding and left, shoulders stiff and muttering irritably into the receiver.

There was a moment of silence as they all watched the door, then--

“So,” said the first man conversationally as he pulled out his gun and pointed it at Chanyeol, “how’d you get into the business?”

Chanyeol eyed the firearm warily. “Into what?”

“Into the police force, obviously,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Most of you like to give a lengthy monologue about justice, or whatever, so I thought I’d cut to the chase.”

“Chen,” interrupted the guy who’d been holding the phone, “look at him. He’s clueless.”

“They like to pretend they’re no clueless all the time, Baek, what makes you think he’s any different?”

“Well, he doesn’t have a gun, for one--”

“You know perfectly well that means absolutely fuck all, Baek, U.C.s don’t always carry--”

“I’m not a cop!” Chanyeol yelped, because he’d probably have a better chance of getting out of here unscathed if he convinced them that he wasn’t a cop. And then swore up and down to never tell a single soul.

“He’s not a cop,” repeated D.O., walking back into the room. Pinching his nose, he sighed, looking frustrated. “He’s Miyoung’s great-nephew, or something.” Chanyeol really wanted to ask how the fuck they knew who he was related to, but Chen and D.O. were still holding guns and Chanyeol quite enjoyed having his brains inside his head.

“You,” D.O. said, jabbing a finger in Chanyeol’s direction, “are coming with us.”

Chanyeol never thought that he’d ever get to experience being frogmarched down his street in the middle of the night, wearing his pyjamas, but here he was, and it was just as awful as he’d never imagined.

The wind was cold, the ground beneath his slippers was cold, and to make matters worse, Chen and the other man (Baekhyun, as he came to find out) were apparently aspiring singers. They weren’t _bad_, per say, but there was something to be said about how the weather could ruin even Beyoncé’s Love on Top.

“I’m telling you, today’s music is severely lacking in versatility,” Chen was saying. “Everyone wants to be a mumble rapper, or an indie singer with a ukulele, but it’s beginning to feel like we’re losing people with those old-school powerful voices, you know? Beyoncé--”

“I can’t believe a pair of wannabe singers tried to rob my house,” Chanyeol grumbled, staring at D.O.’s back.

Chen spluttered indignantly. “There’s nothing wrong with a healthy knowledge of modern pop, and we weren’t trying to rob you, do we look like petty thieves?”

“Yes,” Chanyeol said. “You walked into my house in the middle of the night, it was either that or murdering me.”

Baekhyun simpered. “We wouldn’t have murdered you without knowing who you were first, I promise. Although, we still might have to--”

“Shut up, Baekhyun,” D.O. snarled, whipping around as Chanyeol felt all the colour drain from his face.

“Yeah, Baekhyun, shut up,” Chen said smugly, propping Chanyeol up as one of his knees gave way.

D.O. glared at him. “You too, Chen.”

To his credit, Chen didn’t seem all that intimidated, simply rolling his eyes. “I hate that code name, why couldn’t we have picked better ones?”

“Because all your suggestions were shit,” Baekhyun piped up, grinning.

Chanyeol whimpered. “Please don’t kill me, I promised my mother I’d feed her cat when she went on holiday.”

Chen cooed. “Aw, what a devoted son. Just like D.O.-- oh, speaking of which,” Chanyeol looked up from where he was trying to not step on Baekhyun’s feet, “here we are!”

They were outside Mrs. Do’s house.

D.O.

Do.

What the _fuck_.

“This is a joke, right?” Chanyeol said, heart speeding up. “There’s no way Mrs. Do’s son is a thief. Right? Oh my god, that was weed in the window, wasn’t it? Are you a criminal family? What the fuck--”

“Be _quiet_,” D.O. said firmly, and opened Mrs. Do’s front door. Chanyeol was led through into the living room and sat on the couch, Chen and Baekhyun on either side of him.

“Soo!” Mrs. Do crowed happily, tottering in from the kitchen. “It’s wonderful that you came back.” She spotted Chanyeol and pursed her lips. “Did you break into this poor boy’s house, Kyungsoo Do?”

Kyungsoo pouted, looking disgruntled. “You called me in the middle of the set-up, how was I supposed to know someone was living there beforehand?”

Mrs. Do threw her hands in the air. “I told you earlier today, Kyungsoo! I said, ‘I just had a lovely young man come over for tea, he’s moved into the house down the street, so we won’t be able to use that anymore.’ Use your ears, boy!”

Kyungsoo blanched. “_He’s_ the person you said I should go on a date with?”

Chanyeol spluttered. “Excuse you, I am a _catch_,” he whined, “and anyway, I’m not going to go on a date with someone who _broke into my house_.”

“I didn’t break into your house, it was abandoned!”

“I mean,” Chen said thoughtfully, “it technically wasn’t abandoned.”

Kyungsoo glared. “Whose side are you on, asshole?”

“Don’t talk to Jongdae like that,” Mrs. Do scolded. “He’s done nothing but help you.”

“Help Baekhyun be a pain in my neck, you mean,” Kyungsoo grouched.

Mrs. Do rolled her eyes. “Every good leader needs his advisors, Soo. Even if they act more like henchmen.”

“Aw, thanks Mrs. Do,” Baekhyun cooed, fluttering his eyelashes, “you know we’re always happy to help.”

“Okay, that’s nice,” Chanyeol squeaked. “But when can I go home?”

Kyungsoo’s face darkened. “You have two options, Chanyeol Park. Either you join us--”

“_What?_”

“--or we will be forced to silence you forever.”

Chanyeol’s heart rate, which had slowed when they’d entered Mrs. Do’s house and he’d inhaled the scent of freshly brewed tea, suddenly spiked again.

Jongdae guffawed. “Why do you always have to be so dramatic, dude? He means that either you can join the family, or just never tell anyone and go back to living normally.”

Kyungsoo scowled at Jongdae but didn’t refute it, and wow, was he always this grumpy, or did he just have a severe case of resting angry face?

“I want an explanation,” Chanyeol announced. “With an apology for breaking into my house.”

Kyungsoo sighed. “I’m s--”

Mrs. Do shushed him, a wicked gleam creeping into her eyes.

Uh oh.

“How about you do it over a meal down at that lovely Italian restaurant in town, hm? Kyungsoo’s treat. That way he can apologise and you can… get to know each other.”

“This is nice,” Chanyeol said, looking around the restaurant. Across the table, Kyungsoo hummed in agreement. “So, uh. What do you do for a living?” Kyungsoo looked up from the menu, raising an eyebrow, and Chanyeol backtracked hurriedly. “I mean, I know what you do, technically, but what do you like, actually do?”

Kyungsoo smiled, an adorable heart shape that had Chanyeol’s blood pumping a bit quicker. “I’m more of an overseer, really. Mama still organises all the deals, but she’s too old to scout out trading points, so that’s where I come in.”

Chanyeol blinked, then peered around quickly before ducking his head.

“What do you deal?” He whispered. “Drugs?”

“Among other things, like--”

Chanyeol blanched, shaking his head. “Never mind, actually, I’ve decided that I don’t want to know. Nope. No thank you.” Kyungsoo sniggered a bit, waving at a waiter.

Dinner wasn’t… awful, especially considering that Kyungsoo’s  _ mother _ had literally set them up, but Chanyeol still wasn’t quite sure what to make of him. The Kyungsoo sitting in front of him was nice; he was witty and liked a few of the same TV shows as Chanyeol, but reconciling  _ this _ Kyungsoo with the one who had pointed a gun to his head and essentially threatened his life was proving to be quite difficult.

“I’m sorry for breaking into your house,” Kyungsoo said suddenly, interrupting Chanyeol’s rant on the necessities of CGI. “I haven’t actually apologised yet, have I?” Chanyeol tilted his head to the side, watching as Kyungsoo shifted in his seat. "It's not something I have to think about a lot, really."

"Mostly because you don't tend to use houses you know people are living in?" Chanyeol asked dryly, holding back a smile. Kyungsoo chuckled, and ooh, that was a nice sound. 

"Yeah." They sat in silence for a moment, Chanyeol trying to figure out exactly what to say.

"Thanks for the apology," he blurted out, fiddling with his napkin. "I appreciate it. Less because of the actual break-in, but... the whole threat upon my life was a bit unsettling, to say the least." 

Kyungsoo's mouth twisted. "I guess that's not something that happens to you on a regular basis, is it?" Chanyeol hummed, then paused, tilting his head.

"Does it happen to you often?"

"Now and again," Kyungsoo admitted. "My father made a lot of enemies. He wasn't very good at holding promises, and that's why he isn't around anymore."

"He's--?"

"Mm. Another sect got him when we were still living in the city." Chanyeol grimaced, unsure of how to respond. Kyungsoo didn't seem particularly fazed, twirling the last of his carbonara around his fork, but his jaw was tight.

"I'm sorry," Chanyeol said, trying to pull the right words together. "It must really suck ass." _What the fuck was that sentence oh my god--_

Kyungsoo snorted loudly, muffling a cackle in his hands. "Yeah, it does-- but seriously, Chanyeol, who says 'wow that must suck ass' in response to _that_?"

"I don't know!" Chanyeol moaned, feeling his ears heat up. He flailed a bit, extremely embarrassed, and vaguely contemplated running out of the restaurant. By the time he had pulled himself together, Kyungsoo had received the bill and was already pulling out his card. 

"I can pay," Chanyeol insisted, reaching for his wallet. 

Kyungsoo smiled gently at him, and it was a good thing Chanyeol was sitting down because oh boy, his knees weren't going to hold out if that smile was going to come out to play on a regular basis.  "Let me, Chanyeol, it's the least I can do. My mother would skin me alive if I didn't foot the bill -- for anyone, but especially a pretty boy like you." Chanyeol went bright red and melted back into his seat as Kyungsoo stood up, shrugging his coat on.  "Also, would you do me the honour of allowing me to walk you home?" 

Chanyeol was pretty sure that he'd have no problems dealing with the memory of scary-Kyungsoo, and maybe Mrs. Do was onto something, after all.

"Yeah," he said breathlessly, beaming. "Absolutely."


End file.
